


Fledgling

by JeanGraham



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 20:22:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20431901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanGraham/pseuds/JeanGraham
Summary: Young Spock defies tradition, teachers -- and his father Sarek -- to join Star Fleet.





	Fledgling

See all of my fanfic and links to my pro fiction at <http://jeangraham.20m.com.>

Fledgling - - by Jean Graham

"The caverns of Keltuar on the Southern Continent have rendered deposits of rafin and traces of the rare element shaka'al." The instructor's sonorous voice carried easily to the top of the small, crowded amphitheatre. With less than total interest, his students peered at the glowing image of a mountainside on the screen behind him. It dissolved into a similar landscape, distinguishable only by the faint outline of a city in the distance. "The flats of An-wohr," continued the tranquil voice, "three kaira west of this city, have also been found to be rich in mineral deposits. Two months ago a small deposit of shaka'al was discovered here by the expedition party of..." He halted in mid-sentence to stare into the small sea of pupils, where one youth had risen in the traditional manner of one seeking permission to speak. Disapproval lurked in his granting of the request. "Yes?"

The classroom was still. His pupil said simply, "Sir, I believe your information to be in error."

The hush was broken not by sound, but by the intangible presence of apprehension. "The survey of which you speak," the student went on, "eventually rendered not shaka'al, but byrridin, an element which is quite similar, though of course not as rare, and is thus of lesser value."

The level of tension in the room rose to a level that peaked when the screen faded and the instructor said flatly, "The lesson is concluded. You are dismissed."

The clutch of pupils began to melt away until only one remained. When the door had closed behind the last departing classmate he lowered his head respectfully, and waited.

From the rostrum, the instructor watched him. Finally he said aloud, "Spock, come here."

When the student Spock had descended to the floor, the teacher placed both hands on his podium, so as to hide behind it, and stated bluntly that this was the fourth time he had been thus interrupted at lecture. "I do not oppose the reassessment of inaccurate data," he said authoritatively, "but I will not tolerate disrespect."

Spock faced him, vexingly undaunted. "Instructor Sarov, no disrespect was intended. The information was faulty in that it was out-of-date. But that fault casts no reflection upon you."

Sarov inhaled thinly, his patience strained. "I speak of your manner," he said tightly, "and of your attitude."

A pause; stilted, discomforting. "Sir..."

"We have talked of this once before. The Vulcan Science Academy does not propose to waste the valuable time of its instructors in the training of those who do not conform to our traditional modes of education. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes sir. But is the goal of this institution education -- or conformity? To embrace both would seem to me, at times, quite impossible."

Sarov permitted his annoyance to show. "Do you question the founding concepts of this Academy?"

"Sir, I question an apparent unwillingness to consider alternate hypotheses regarding supposedly fixed theories which are of ten later proven incorrect. I question the rationale behind any tradition which impairs the process of research, experimentation, or the quest for higher knowledge. And I respectfully submit that the very practice of such customs is illogical. To further-"

"That is enough." Sarov's indignation was inadequately concealed. "I have spoken of your behavior once before with your father. Now I see I must also speak with the headmaster. Four times I have tried to reason with you. Four times I have failed. I will tolerate no more." He paused, expecting a reaction which failed to come. Puzzled, he said, "You do not seem concerned. You are of course aware that my conference with the headmaster might well result in your expulsion from this institution."

With exasperating calm, Spock replied, "I have no reason for concern, sir. Such a conference would be quite meaningless."

Sarov's jaw fell open. "It would what?"

"My application for admission has been accepted at an institution... elsewhere. As of this date, I have officially and voluntarily withdrawn from the Science Academy. Therefore, any conference you may desire to hold with the headmaster, or with anyone else, concerning my allegedly inappropriate conduct would be utterly and incontrovertibly pointless... sir."

As his dissenting student, nodding politely, walked away, Sarov sat down heavily on the rim of the amphitheatre and bitterly mused that he had just been quite skillfully robbed of his intended final reprimand.

* * *

The house of Sarek was spacious, even by Vulcan standards. Spock employed a little-used entrance, and without questioning the illogic in evading the inevitable, slipped unobserved to his room. He entered it, however, to find he'd been anticipated. Amanda rose at his arrival, her expression one of unconcealed distress.

Countering his own reaction of surprise, he halted in the doorway to regain his composure. "Mother."

The silence, almost an entity, stood between them. He could see in her face that she was struggling with something which she was unable to verbalize. Reluctantly, he did it for her. "Instructor Sarov has spoken with my father?"

"Yes. The telescreen..." She broke the barrier between them and came toward him. "You knew?"

He nodded. "I surmised it."

"Is it true? Did you really withdraw from the Science Academy?"

The answer was almost inaudible. "Yes."

"Why?"

He stepped past her, moving uneasily to the glass partition that separated them from the veranda and the garden beyond it. "Is my father greatly..." There was no other word for it. "...displeased... with me?"

She sensed the import in his question, measured words accordingly. "He... isn't going to understand. But I think I do." Spock turned to look at her, his expression a question. She fought to keep her next words under control. "You're not just leaving the Academy, are you? You're 1eaving us -- and Vulcan."

Human insight would never cease to bewilder him. Rather than allow his astonishment to show, however, he resumed his pretense of studying the garden. Some time later, he said quietly, "My father will no doubt wish to speak with me."

"He's waiting in the study." Something in her voice was disquieting. And the sentiment she expressed was increasing his discomfort. The result was an irrepressible sensation of entrapment: there was simply no logical way to resolve the choice between permitting an emotional scene or implying disrespect by leaving the room. He opted for the latter, indulging not for the first time, the transgression of dismissing logic.

"Spock!" Her inflection was intended to stop him, and did. "Please... please don't be angry with him."

_Anger is a human emotion._ His first thought was to tell her this; his second that it would have been pointless.

"Please, try to understand him, for all our sakes." She had reached out to take hold of his hand, and he barely controlled the urge to recoil at the touch. It was a gesture to which she had not resorted in many years. "You may not understand what it means to love, but surely you can understand _my_ need to see that both of you..." Words failed her and the strangeness in her voice betrayed the threat of tears. It was a condition in which he had seldom seen her, though there had been times...

She held tightly to his hand, and at once, both admiration and embarrassment beset him. Breaking their gaze, he slipped free his hand, and in sudden afterthought, reached back to touch hers briefly. He very nearly tried to voice a thought for which he had never before found words. But in the sheer awkwardness of the moment, restraint prevailed. Defeated, he hurriedly left the room.

What Amanda had referred to as the study, though not overly large, was nevertheless an imposing chamber. It was glass-walled on three sides, overlooking the garden, the city and the nearby desert.

His father, seated behind the massive semi-circular table, did not look up. A breeze from the open window panel ruffled the papers beside him, wafting the faint scent of khatra flowers into the room. Sunlight fell across the desk, spilled onto the floor in oddly protracted rectangles. The effect seemed ethereal, almost supernatural. Spock frowned. Why did such abstract, illogical concepts continue to occur to him?

His father, occupied with paper and stylus, still did not acknowledge him. His entrance, in fact, had disturbed only the ambassadorial aide, who hastily gathered up a disheveled heap of paperwork and shuffled nervously out the door. Spock did not acknowledge him.

The door whispered shut behind the departing aide, no sooner having done so than the stylus ceased its busied movements and Sarek looked up at his son.

"Instructor Sarov and I have spoken," he said quietly.

Spock acknowledged the statement with a nod and said nothing.

"I trust you are possessed of a logical explanation for this... unsanctioned withdrawa1 from the Academy?"

Spock stiffened formally. "Custom dictates that I complete the education of your choosing. It is with regret that I find I am unable to do so."

The stylus turned slow circles in Sarek's hand. In anyone else, it might have been taken for a sign of uneasiness. "Do you consider the matter of a simple conflict of opinion between an instructor and yourself adequate reason for such an action?"

"No sir. Instructor Sarov is not my reason."

"'What _is_ your reason?"

Spock paused, placed both hands behind his back. "'I am... .unable to reconcile certain standards of curriculum with my personal beliefs. For example, it is the presumption of the Science Academy founders that a number of given scientific properties are immutable and therefore cannot be questioned. Yet every year, another of these 'laws' is disproved, or must be altered. They are therefore not immutable at all; not laws but hypotheses, open to question, and open to scientific investigation -- no matter how recondite that investigation might be. The hypocrisy inherent in denying these facts would seem, to me, irreconcilable in every way with the concept of true learning."

Sarek's voice was tempered with patience. "Must _everything_ be questioned? Do you believe nothing to be a certainty?"

"Sir... I believe we limit ourselves with the concept that the scientific properties of _this_ world must needs impose themselves upon the rest of the universe. They need not."

Sarek rose, the writing implement still turning end over end in his hand. The paper-strewn table remained a wall between them. "I know of no reputable institution receptive of such unorthodox theories anywhere on Vulcan. Our methods of instruction are quite uniform; one school is like another. I see noting to be gained in withdrawing from the Science Academy merely to confront the same philosophy of education elsewhere."

After an uncomfortable moment, Spock said carefully, "Nor do I."

Sarek looked at him. "I do not understand your reasoning."

"The institution which has accepted my application... is not on Vulcan."

The stylus stopped turning; was placed with deliberate calm upon the reflective surface of the table. To have broken tradition thus far, Spock knew, was bad enough. But to leave Vulcan against the wishes of one's father might well be considered nothing short of open defiance.

He waited, fully expecting the delivery of a lecture on ancestral tradition he had already heard many times before. Instead, Sarek said simply, "Where, then?"

Spock answered the question evenly. "Star Fleet Academy."

The ensuing silence was unsettling due less to his own discomfort than to the realization that his father was visibly disturbed by the announcement. Sarek came quietly around the table, closing the space between them. His voice remained level. "You spoke of hypocrisy. Was your decision also perhaps influenced by the belief that, in spite of the Vulcan adherence to the philosophies of equality and of diversity, there are many here who have demonstrated a certain... intolerance... toward Amanda, and to you?"

Spock's silence was an unspoken affirmation.

Sarek nodded. "It is as I suspected."

The patronization evoked an involuntary wince from Spock, who looked quickly at the floor, striving desperately to conceal the reaction. His father chose not to take note of it. Instead, he turned to place a contemplative hand on the gleaming tabletop, staring eastward into the deepening red of the setting sun. The room around them had grown dim. The breeze had become cooler and somewhat more substantial. And the fragrance of the khatra was heavy now.

Sarek spoke without turning. "I do not deny a certain truth in what you have said of the Science Academy. But it is our way. One cannot change the way of centuries in a single day. And I can see no logic in running away from--"

"Sir, I am 'running away' from nothing. I have given the problem due and lengthy consideration. My choice was not made in haste. I simply reached the ultimate conclusion that, with regard to the personal philosophies I have outlined, my field of study would best be continued in space -- aboard a Federation starship."

"Our own fleet is equipped with ample computer-research facilities. You have every opportunity to continue that field of study here on Vulcan."

"And I have already explained why I cannot."

Sarek turned slowly back to face him. "And do you actually believe these hypocrisies to which you refer will not exist among Humans? Do you think an affluence of diplomatic words on paper has truly put an end to racial intolerance on Earth? If so, I can assure you you are quite mistaken." The next came hesitantly, as from one reluctant to reveal something personal in nature. "You would also be misled to draw... Amanda... as an example. She is not typical of the majority of Earth's inhabitants."

"I am aware of that, sir. As I am aware that Earth is possessed of hypocrisies and prejudices all its own. Nevertheless, my findings would indicate that the quest for scientific knowledge carried out aboard a starship strives most effectively to overcome any such hindrances. The seeking out of new information is the primary function of such vessels. And that knowledge is made available to all the known galaxy. It is to that end I wish to devote my own research."

The room had now grown quite dark. Starlight shone dimly through the glass, and the pulsing blue light of the planet H'Mahr followed the path of the sun to the horizon. Sarek went to the open panel and pulled it inward, shutting out the sound of the night. "After the kaswan, you came to tell me that you had chosen Vulcan as the proper direction in which to guide your life. Do you propose to reverse that direction now?"

Spock shifted position. "No sir. Such reversal would not be necessary, if indeed it were possible at all. I cannot change what I am. We have spoken of this before."

Sarek was a shadowed figure with the stars of the eastern desert behind him. His voice held a tone of decisiveness. "We have also spoken before of your desire to depart from the Science Academy. I told you of my decision in the matter at that time. It has not changed."

"Sir... neither disrespect nor dishonor is intended here, but it is my life, therefore, my decision."

Sarek came wordlessly back to the table, his face still in shadow. When he spoke, his voice revealed the unmistakable tone of disbelief. "You would do this, against my will?"

Thankful for the darkness, Spock said tightly, "Sir, it is a thing _I must do."_

The silhouette of his father slowly resumed its seated position behind the table. With finality, it said, "So, you have chosen. Go then. There is nothing more to be said."

Though reluctantly, Spock remained. Something in him did not want to accept this as conclusive. "Father..."

"Go." The voice was tired, detached, almost like that of a stranger, and the sound of it lingered with him as he left the shadowed room.

More than 13 years were to pass before he would hear it again.   


-The End--


End file.
